


Candy is dandy but liquor is quicker

by Etnoe



Category: Katekyo Hitman Reborn!
Genre: F/M, Food Sex, No Strings Attached, Older Man/Younger Woman, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-13
Updated: 2010-10-13
Packaged: 2017-10-12 15:47:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etnoe/pseuds/Etnoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bianchi shows up on Shamal's doorstop with certain needs and a bottle of alcohol; Shamal's night could not get any better. ...Probably.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candy is dandy but liquor is quicker

**Author's Note:**

> The title is the Ogden Nash poem "Reflections on Ice-breaking", minus formatting. This was written for [a kink meme request](http://community.livejournal.com/rebornmeme/479.html?thread=273631) of "Shamal/Bianchi, wakamezake".
> 
> * * *

Shamal opened his apartment door and nearly took a step back. It was Bianchi - but her cheeks were flushed and her lips slightly parted, her hips canted forwards and the nubs of nipples prominent under her t-shirt. She wanted to have sex. He knew it. She wanted to have sex right HERE, right NOW, and yeah right, with him. But it was definitely Bianchi.

"Are you sharing that _sake_?" Shamal asked with a grin, because that was the only way this could be better.

"Yes," Bianchi said, walking in.

He stared into the open air she'd vacated, trying to imagine what fundamental law of the universe had changed so that this could happen. Instead his brain supplied an image of the roll of Bianchi's hips, and he shut the door and skipped into the living room. "I knew you'd come around, darling!"

She threw her jeans into his looming embrace. "You must be good for something," she said, and walked into the bedroom (easy to spot, though she'd never visited before: the door was always open, as a matter of principle).

'My reputation precedes me' would have been a good reply. But Bianchi had such long legs, going right up to the pert bottom in lacy underwear, and the _sake_ bottle gave a half-full slosh. Shamal's gaze caught on the shoes and socks she'd toed off on the living room floor. She really was eager, wasn't she?

He tossed the jeans towards the shoes, grinning wider, and unbuttoned his shirt as he went to join her. It was discarded in the few steps it took to reach the bedroom, and then his hand fell away in distraction. Bianchi sat on the window seat, still in her bra, not bothering with that last scrap. She looked at him with eyes gone bright black from the dilation of her pupils, and the bottle was tilted in her hand to bestow a precise drip, drip, drip into a pool in a tight triangle formed between flesh and hair. _Unbelievably_ eager.

"No time to waste, then," and by the end of the sentence he was lowering his mouth to her lap. Stubble rasped against her skin and Bianchi cried out in a way Shamal was looking forward to hearing for the rest of the night. She wound her ankles around each other to squeeze her legs tighter and keep from spilling.

Shamal gave a heartfelt sigh. "The only pity is that this makes you put your legs so close together." He kissed the softness of each thigh. There was no musk to catch scent of, only the sharpness of the alcohol; but she shuddered, and that was enough. He popped the button on his trousers for a little relief.

Bianchi's eyes were shut tight, but her mouth was open and she trembling with every gasp. He drew fingertips down the outside of her thighs, licking away the last moisture, and her head thudded against the windowpane. He'd imagined (fondly and so many times) that he'd have to coax his way past that cold face she preferred to put on, what she imagined to be The Assassin, made up of attitude and edges. Instead Bianchi ate pleasure with unguarded eagerness. An outrage, he decided, that a girl like this wasted herself in such a one-sided, and ugh, _celibate_ relationship.

"So cute," Shamal teased. In retribution she rolled her eyes, and then she poured more _sake_.

"Dig in," Bianchi said imperiously, and smiled.

Shamal sucked up the drink and then wiped his chin, and as he returned to licking the clenched line of her thighs Bianchi took his hand and lapped the streak of _sake_ away. Her sighs were smooth and heavy as velvet, and her back struck the window solidly when his tongue found the clitoral hood and drew out the centre of attention.

Considering her extraordinary abilities, shouldn't he worry about poison? Shamal wondered, and continued what he was doing. No! Of course not! Because if he had to go: _What a way to go_.

With a wilder shudder, Bianchi put the bottle on the sill and fumbled with the catch of her bra. Shamal sat up and could look on in appreciation while taking a condom from his pocket and putting it on - practise. They already had a rhythm going, by happy accident: he lifted his hands to the curve of her ribcage to pull her down as her hands landed on his shoulders to push him back. Then she was on him - over him - beautifully tight and so welcome he never had imagined it. Bianchi didn't move, abdominals trembling with tension, savouring the feeling like the first bite of a last meal.

He turned her over and she shimmied eagerly to accommodate him; they rolled their hips together in fast, hard snaps, Bianchi's fingernails raking his back through his shirt. "Say it," she said, and experience gave him a good guess at what.

He whispered against her cheek, voice rough with the sear of alcohol in a way unobservant women found devastating. "I love you, darling. I love you!"

Bianchi cried out and tightened around him, pleasure cresting in the sound to such a point that it was almost a sob, and the abandon of her body told him that she was on the edge of orgasm.

"You _believed_ that?!" Shamal said.

He actually stopped moving as he stared at her. Then he rallied, starting up slowly, his thrusts eased to massaging softness. "I love—"

"Don't say it!" Bianchi hissed, her face a thundercloud, making fists like a child not getting her way. But then she slammed her fists onto the floor and pushed up, arching her whippet body to pull him in, and the distraction was too perfect for him to worry. As if that was what he was here for, anyway.

After, she drew herself a bath, and after some minutes he joined her to be sure that she didn't pass out and drown. Bianchi having sex with him had to involve more alcohol than he cared to admit.

She was staring at the islands of her knees poking the surface of the water, pretty face pulled apart in a nearly tearful grimace. Heartbroken.

She believed that kind of thing! The Princess. The Assassin. She'd had him fooled after all. _Beautiful girl, stupid girl, how could you? why would you?_

He sat on the rim of the bathtub. "I'm pretty fond of you, probably," Shamal offered. He took a swig from the bottle of _sake_ and then held it out.

Bianchi grabbed it by the neck, then lifted one leg from the water and gave him the nicest kick she ever had. Nothing but a tap that left a dark dot on his shirt. She gulped from the bottle, and looked disgruntled when it finally came up empty.

"You could be worse. If you tried," Bianchi observed, and he snorted. Like he needed kindness here.

Then she blushed, and gave a tiny, pleased smile. "And you are good for something."

"Dearest Bianchi - darling, beautiful lover - _please_ won't you develop a drinking habit?"

And even that kick was softer than almost all of the rest.


End file.
